


limb, breath, piston, synapse

by tehtarik



Series: super quick tumblr fic [2]
Category: Black Panther (2018), Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Gen, Jaeger Pilots, Jaegers (Pacific Rim), Pacific Rim Crossover, but I wrecked the pac rim timeline sorry, no spoilers for pac rim uprising as I haven't watched yet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 14:50:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14114703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tehtarik/pseuds/tehtarik
Summary: The first time Shuri inspected a Jaeger close-up, when PPDC officials showed her around the Anchorage Shatterdome, she turned her nose up at it.“Vintage,” she replied, savouring their disbelieving looks.What she’d really meant was,Bast, I cannot wait to redesign their whole fleet and then step into one of them.-Shuri and T'Challa join the Jaeger Programme.





	limb, breath, piston, synapse

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on tumblr.
> 
> I have not watched Pac Rim Uprising yet, so no spoilers.
> 
> I ruined the original PacRim timeline sorry.

 

 

 

**revolution  
**

After opening its doors to the world, the Wakandan government joined the Pan Pacific Defence Corps. The Jaeger Programme was revolutionised.

 

**scrap**

The first time Shuri inspected a Jaeger close-up, when PPDC officials showed her around the Anchorage Shatterdome, she turned her nose up at it. At the jagged monolith of it. At the other six Jaegers standing in their bays, technicians and maintenance crews swarming around them. Clunky vertical scrapyards, hammered by 3 year old fists into a vaguely bipedal shape. Probably lumbered around with the grace and the ponderousness of a tank.

“And these are our mobile weapons and defence systems, our best solution to deal with the kaiju problem without huge civilian casualties,” they’d explained the Jaegers to her.

“Vintage,” she replied, savouring the disbelieving looks of the PPDC officials.

What she’d really meant was, _Bast, I cannot wait to redesign their whole fleet and then step into one of them._

 

**synapse**

– _there was never any doubt what the question was, what had to be done, it was always a matter of_ how, _never_ what _, but how to fortify the current design, how to minimise impact on the pilots, how to use that impact, to redistribute that kinetic force, to be more efficient, sleeker, smoother, where the vibranium could fit in, woven in the fabric of the Drivesuits, into the inbuilt synaptic processor mesh, maybe a specially developed nanite solution in the data relay gel, to decrease lag time, time between responses, between electrical impulses transmitted between the pilots, full vibranium hull undoubtedly, how many engine blocks per muscle strand if vibranium-powered, the gyro-stabilisers, the turbines, the cannons, missiles and plasmacasters_ –

“You don’t just want to share a headspace with your co-pilot,” she explained to a boardroom full of PPDC directors. T’Challa sat at one end of the table, arms folded, exuding his usual air of quiet confidence. Composure. His absolute trust in her. “You don’t just want to interface with them. You want to _be_ your co-pilot. You don’t want to wait. You want to take out the entire time factor when Drifting, you want to move and exist as a single organism. Both of you, and the machine; you are a new consciousness. You are flesh and metal and each other’s limb and breath and piston and synapse.”

 

 

**drop**

“Ninety minutes before Miracle Mile is compromised,” Okoye’s voice was toneless over the comms system from LOCCENT Mission Control. The warning lamps flashed red in every room of the Shatterdome. _Kaiju alert._ “Are you both ready?”

“Are _you_?” said Shuri, grinning, as she slapped T’Challa playfully on the arm. “Keep up, brother.”

T’Challa shook his head, good-humouredly. “Remind me how we are Drift compatible again?”

They crossed a catwalk, helmets tucked under their arms, connecting the Drivesuit Room, from where they had been outfitted, to the Conn-Pod. Stepped onto the command platform. The harness slid towards them, the motion rig locking around their boots and vambraces, integrating with their kimoyo bracelet data, the spinal clamps buckling smoothly, connecting Shuri and T’Challa and linking them up with the encompassing Jaeger anatomy. The interior of the Conn-Pod, free of the usual manual switches and dials of traditional PPDC Jaegers (their cockpits always reminded Shuri of the insides of ancient fuseboxes), instead had spirals and stripes, that sometimes flashed with brief informational feeds, and other times with Wakandan prayers scripted across the walls.

Shuri put on her helmet, triggering the relay gel dispersal into her circuitry suit.

“Alright, little sister,” T’Challa’s voice slicked through her thoughts. “No need to admire your handiwork each time you step inside.”

She only shrugged. “These kaiju have very bad timing.”

“And why is that?”

“I have new Jaeger tech that is nearly ready for testing. Remote piloting, just like how we fly some of our aircraft back home. Just like the car in Korea, remember? Those upgrades will greatly reduce Ranger casualties.”

“Outdoing yourself again?” T’Challa teased. “If successful, you will revolutionise the entire Programme. Again.”

“ _If_!” she scoffed. “Truly, you disappoint me.”

“Can we focus on the mission here?” Okoye interrupted them over their communicators. “Engaging Drop.”

“ _Black Panther_ ready for the Drop,” T'Challa announced.

He turned to her, but she beat him to it. “Hold on, brother. This can come as a surprise.”

“Three, two, one…” Okoye counted down.

Then the Conn-Pod was released from the gantry scaffolds, and they plummeted down, down, down, to the body of the Jaeger.

 

**drift**

They connected with the body of the Mark V Wakandan-made Jaeger, _Black Panther_. Shuri cast an eye over the systemic data projections before her. All systems online and functioning at optimum level.

The doors of the lower Shatterdome swung open to the turbulent, gnashing Pacific. It was typhoon season in this part of the world. That meant nothing to a Jaeger. Oceanographic data blipped at the corner of Shuri’s data feed.

“Marshal Mori on deck,” said Okoye.

A new voice came through from LOCCENT. “ _Black Panther_ , this is Mako Mori.”

“Marshal,” said T’Challa calmly.

A truncated hologram of Mori flickered to life. She dipped her head slightly, a quick smile loosening her usually stern mouth. “Thank you for answering our call for help, Highnesses. You were the furthest away, but the first to reach us.”

“Please.”

“Engaging pilot-to-pilot protocol,” Okoye announced. “Prepare for neural handshake, princess, my King.”

“Get ready to step into my head,” Shuri told T’Challa. “Last time you weren’t so prepared.”

“Well I did not expect to be assaulted by the latest tech specifications of an agricultural drone, along with two hundred cat memes.”

“Neural handshake initiated,” Okoye’s voice was sharp with irritation. Shuri wanted to laugh. Okoye and Mori both sounded so serious. They made a good pair. Maybe they were Drift compatible?

And then she was in the Drift with T’Challa.

Despite all the technological upgrades that she had brought to the Jaeger Programme to quicken turnaround times, the one thing that could not be rushed was the Drift. Connection, pure and true, operated in its own time. Her sense of the interior of the Conn-Pod melted away. Her awareness of LOCCENT, the mission, the threat of the impending attack, the entire informational matrix she lived in. All of it, all the data of the world, unimportant.

All that mattered now was T’Challa. His presence beside her was enlarged, and her own mind rose beyond the parameters of flesh and metal to meet his. There was that brief moment when they tussled with each other mentally, both trying to envelope the other. As though they were kids again, arguing over the simplest things. Then she pulled back, and so did he. _Find middle ground with T’Challa._

T’Challa’s memories streaked blue and silver and deep purple past them. Hers, too. Ghostly sequences of their lives, helixed together. There were no secrets between them.

_Find the middle. The balance and the boundary and the compromise. Find each other’s calm. Find each other. And then stay there._

_Left hemisphere, calibrating._

_Right hemisphere, calibrating._

“Neural handshake successful and holding strong,” Okoye and Mori said, their voices clipping each other off, the ends of their sentences unaligned, unlike how Shuri and T’Challa felt.

The Drift energised them, made them lethal, ready for anything.

Shuri crossed her arms over her chest. T’Challa did the same. And in response, _Black Panther_ lifted its massive arms and crossed it over the burning, vibranium-powered reactor of its chest.

“Activate stealth mode,” said T’Challa, and a cloaking shield rippled around the entirety of the Jaeger.

Then, they stepped off the platform and walked out of the Shatterdome, into the Pacific.

 

**trigger**

The kaiju was a Category IV, and it looked like an unholy cross between one of W’Kabi’s rhinos and a refrigerator.

“Has it been codenamed yet?” Shuri yelled. “If not, can I give it a name?”

“For Bast’s sake,” T’Challa shouted back. “Right punch, _now_.”

“No, wait–-not right now. Elbow rocket first! On my count, brother! Three, two, _now_.”

They swung their right arms in unison as the rocket on Black Panther’s right elbow fired, maximising punching power, and the vibranium plated fist of the Jaeger slammed into the kaiju’s boxy head. The creature stumbled, but its heavy tail swung round and smashed _Black Panther_ across the chest.

“Whoa! Hey, now!” Shuri cried as they lurched sideways. It felt like a massive battering ram had pounded against her own chest. It would have felt a lot worse, but the vibranium armour and Drivesuit protected them from the worst of the impact.

The kaiju dove beneath the waves and vanished.

“Right behind you, coming up fast,” Mori's voice from LOCCENT sounded faraway.

Something struck the back of the Conn-Pod hard. Shuri blinked, dazed. The connection between her and T’Challa wavered. A stray memory broke through, something that shouldn’t be there.

And then she wasn’t in the Conn-Pod any longer. She wasn’t even in the ocean. She was back home, or somewhere that looked like Wakanda. An endless twilit savanna, luminous with cascades of purple light from the stars, and there, _there,_ there was Baba, looking just like he did, the day before he died. Grey-headed and smiling joyfully, holding out his arms to her, and she drifted toward him at first, uncertain, and then began running. Dimly, she thought she heard T’Challa’s voice, shouting about rabbits of all things. There was a battle somewhere beyond these purple-lit plains that she didn’t care about.

Just as she reached Baba, he suddenly dropped his arms and stepped backwards. His face creased into a frown, and she stopped short.

“Baba? It is I, Shuri.”

“Shuri?” the voice wasn’t Baba’s. It was T’Challa’s. “Shuri, come back, you need to get back to the Drift, _I need you_!”

She blinked away the sudden tears. The confusion and the sharp spike of anger that rose through her. Why did T’Challa have to come and interrupt?

“Don’t–-!” T’Challa pleaded. “It isn’t real, not right now. Shuri. _Listen to me._ Please.”

Slowly, laboriously, she pulled herself away from the memory. The R.A.B.I.T. Random Access Brain Impulse Trigger, in Jaeger-speak. All a memory, and not even hers, but T'Challa's.

She was suspended in the air, held in place by the motion rig. The kaiju had just sent them flying and with Shuri all zoned out by the R.A.B.I.T., _Black Panther_ had lost its balance and was now facedown in the water.

“We need to get back on our feet,” T’Challa said. “Are you back with me, Shuri?”

“I–yeah, brother, I am.”

They flipped easily back onto their feet. The vibranium hull had taken a battering, but it still held strong. Kaiju-codename-to-be-decided flared its mouth, jaws and mouthparts unfolding, revealing the depths of its maw, which glowed a brilliant blue.

“You know what I’m thinking,” said T’Challa.

“Brother, we’re in each other’s heads.”

“Say it, little sister.”

Shuri gritted her teeth. Thought of Baba. And now, of T’Challa. Summoned all the strength in herself. “ _We_ are the Black Panther.”

“Then let’s do this together.”

 _Black Panther_ began running, smashing through the shallows, plasmacasters charging. Shuri sent an enormous vibranium disc spinning toward the kaiju, and when it veered its head, distracted, they leaped in front of the beast, and shoved the jaeger’s left arm with the attached cannon right down its throat and emptied the clip. Pulverised it from the inside.

Shuri screamed. She couldn’t help it. The elation, the amazing feeling of it all. Was this feeling hers, or was it T’Challa’s? Or did it actually matter?

“Well done, little sister,” said T’Challa. He was as happy as she was. As exhausted and as stunned as she was.

She couldn’t wait until they got back and shed their body armour. They would laugh and laugh and laugh, arms around each other, laugh until they sobbed. Okoye along with everyone else in the Shatterdome would shake their heads at them, but they’d understand. They surely would understand, _had_ to, because _wow_ , what a feeling; truly, nobody was ever alive until they felt like she did, right this moment.

 

 

**(bonus / post-credits)**

Mako Mori stood in the mostly empty combat room, in the Los Angeles Shatterdome.

Jake Pentecost stood before her, leaning against a training staff, shaking his head, sweat beading on his arms and neck. “Didn’t think this would work.”

He’d gone through the entire crowd of Jaeger Academy grads, which she’d personally handpicked, and sent them to the ground easily. None of them were even a close match for him.

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” said Mako.

“Come on--” Jake started, and then stopped.

Someone stepped out of the shadows of the combat room.

“Looks like nobody’s left but me,” said this new person.

Jake exchanged a look with Mako. He was _definitely_ interested, she could tell. And that was something. He hadn’t shown a mote of interest in any of the previous candidates.

“Your name?” Mako asked. He definitely didn’t come from the Academy.

The new guy came forward. He had short dreadlocks, swept to the side.

“Stevens,” he said. “Erik Stevens.”

.

.


End file.
